Lost in Hollywood
by Varmint
Summary: Greg Saunders was a man out of time. He shouldn't have been so bothered, but there was quite the gap between 1945 and 2015 that he just couldn't get over. Especially because he had no idea how he could adjust. Or, he didn't until a wise soul recommended becoming a singer once more. It was when Greg finally seemed to be adjusting to this new present that his life went to hell again.
1. Chapter 1

**So, yeah, the story's about Greg Saunders coming back from the Old West to a present that's not his own. The Seven Soldiers of Victory were a team that were thrown back in time after trying to defeat Nebula Man and were saved by the JLA to finish the job.**

 **This story will be about Greg trying his best to come to terms to this new world and try and actually rebuild his life here.**

Greg Saunders was usually a very calm man. He didn't let much get to him. Usually. And he hadn't really felt too stressed out, even when he found himself in the middle of nowhere in a time before his own.

But now, though, he felt as if he were just about ready to run and hide his head underneath the nearest rock to be able to avoid any and everybody.

Why?

The answer was kind of confusing.

Greg had been able to survive living in the nineteenth century without much hassle because he was a cowboy, through and through. Even if he had been born much later, he already had an idea of how to live a rough life and didn't face much challenges because of the hard way he had been raised.

Now, though, he was in a time much after his own and had no idea how many of the norms of technology worked. Even the new age radios confused him and he had grown up with those things around him!

He was quite the odd man, choosing to live in the past rather than this future where Global Warming was a thing and vaccines that helped save countless lives were being rejected by a portion of the population.

He just wanted to return to his polio ridden life where he was ignorant to the dangers awaiting humanity.

"Mr. Saunders, I need you to come out of the supply closet."

There was that weirdly dressed man that had come to 'save' him from the Old West.

Greg liked him the least. It's not that he had a reason to hate the people that had collected him from the past- in fact, he should be grateful, if memory still worked- but he didn't like it here in the future. And because he didn't like it, he didn't like the people that had brought him here.

Honestly, there were two ways he could answer the brightly clad man. He could either cuss him off or explain the situation.

But he really didn't want to explain why he was freaking out over the _toaster_ or why he didn't want to leave the simple looking supplies in the closet, nor hurt the red man's feelings. So, instead of speaking, the cowboy chose to pull his faithful hat- the one from back in 1945, not the worn and dirty ones from his time in the past- over his eyes and pretend he was sleeping besides the brooms.

The reason he had chosen to hide in the supply closet was really very simple. The kitchen held too much technology, the cafeteria was filled with heroes that made him feel so very _old,_ the training rooms had too much technology as well, and… Well, any place that _wasn't_ this closet seemed to be filled to the brim with trinkets so fancy he was sure he would accidentally brek.

The brooms, mops, and various liquids used for cleaning were the only real thing that reminded him of simpler times, even if they seemed to have been modified over the years.

When he and the rest of the soldiers had been thrown back in time, he had honestly expected to die. With no sight of his friends in a hostile environment he barely knew about, he was sure he'd end up taking a bullet to the arm for saying the wrong thing and dying from gangrene. And the thought of that alone had been enough to chill him to his very bone the very first day he had spent in the Wild West.

But now he found himself even more afraid of this future he knew absolutely nothing about than when he entered a time before his own. Maybe it was because he knew about the past rather than the future. Maybe he was afraid to face a life that he wasn't ready for. Maybe he just thought of the past as the lesser of two evils.

Be it as it may, though, he had no way of going back to the past or to what was supposed to be his life.

* * *

 _"_ _We can't send you back to 1945, Mr. Pemberton. Your apparent deaths back then were for a reason."_

 _Greg shifted from his left foot onto his right as he looked at the slightly scary man before him, one that called himself Batman._

 _He had been living since 1918, sure, and he knew of all the horrors of the depression much more intimately than most people alive in the year 2015, but now he was looking at someone that was undoubtedly older than him, when it came to age number. By chronological standards, Greg and the rest of the soldiers were almost a whole century old, Sir Justin even more. But Batman was, without a doubt, older than thirty, and that was older than Greg's twenty nine years of age._

 _"_ _What do you mean, Batman? We don't belong in this world!" Star Spangled Kid- bless his ever fiery heart- was arguing Batman's point of making them stay in this odd future. "We have lives yet to live and we shouldn't be made to waste them in a time we don't belong in."_

 _"_ _Arguably, Sylvester, if we hadn't died by the fifties, we may still be living if we hadn't faced off against Nebula Man." Sylvester's good friend, Pat Dugan, remarked, crossing his arms with a soft smirk._

 _"_ _You know what I mean, Stripesy!" Sylvester huffed softly, feeling dejected at his friend's mocking._

 _"_ _I understand, Mr. Pemberton, but your deaths are a permanent part of the time stream. To send you back to continue your lives may alter the present. We can't afford to change a whole reality just to return four men."_

* * *

Those words had stung Greg more than he cared to admit.

There were only four of them left. Sir Justin, Sylvester, Pat, and he were the only surviving members of their once glorious team.

Thinking back on the short time they spent together, Greg regretted not having seen through Tom's disguise. He also regretted not having spent more time with Lee and Wing.

He was a man out of time that knew very few people with very limited knowledge as to what had happened after he had been plucked from his rightful moment in time.

Apparently, Hitler _had_ lost the war. His old friend, Heinrich Wagner, owed him a beer. An authentic one.

Then there was the myriad of different wars the United States had fought since the Second World War, but Greg didn't want to learn about those young soldiers just yet. He knew just how terrible war could be and knew for a fact the more modern ones weren't exempt from this rule. He just wasn't ready to hear any of the heart ache he knew would come from those stories.

Through his musings, he heard a knock on the door.

"Mr. Saunders, please come out."

He felt slightly bad at how pleading the voice sounded now.

"Ah have a right ta a nap, Jr.!" Greg grouched as best he could, trying to keep appearances up.

Just because he was afraid of this time didn't mean he would be giving up his reputation. In retrospect, his reputation meant almost nothing because he hadn't been seen in the past six decades, but he didn't really care. He was a man an wasn't about to be seen sniffling about like a child.

"Come on! I'm thirty-two!"

Greg chuckled softly at the hero's voice, "Yuh don't sound thirty-two, kid! 'Sides, Ah was wearin' these 'ere spurs from since before yuh were born!"

"That's not fair, though! You were born before my _mom_ was born!"

"Ah am aware o' that, Flash Boy. Don't mean nothin' ta me, though."

"Flash, what are you doing here?"

Greg cursed inwardly at the sound of Batman's voice.

There were only two heroes he had bothered to learn the names of. The Flash and Batman. He knew Flash because he was the man that had taken him from the past, so it was kind of obvious he knew his name. Batman's, though, he knew because he had quickly learned to respect the younger/older man. And he was also aware of the fact that most of the people in this hunk o' metal called the Watchtower seemed to fear him completely.

"Oh, nothing." Flash chuckled nervously and Greg shook his head.

He'd have to teach that boy how to lie some time.

"Why are you talking to a supply closet's door?"

Right then and there, Greg could imagine the red clothed hero doing his best to act nonchalant, maybe even leaning against the door with his arms crossed, with a very badly made 'everything's fine' smile.

"Oh, just… You know… Arguing with… The broom and mops?"

"Oh, kid. Yuh poor thing." The cowboy shook his head as he got up from his place nestled between the various supplies, extending his arms over his head to stretch.

With a satisfying 'pop' from both shoulders, the man then rolled his neck and rubbed at his right wrist.

"Ah'm comin' out, junior!" He called, pushing at a button from inside the room to have the door swoosh open.

That was the only technological advancement he had seen that had not positively scared him upon seeing it.

Batman looked at Flash with an unamazed glance, then turned to Vigilante with what the man assumed was a quirked eyebrow.

Placing his bandana back over the lower half of his face, the man did his best to smile at both younger yet older men.

"Ah was just tryin' ta get some peace an' quiet, Batman. Somethin' that's not so easy ta get with so many people busslin' about."

Flash smiled at Batman in a not very convincing manner, "I was just asking him if he needed anything."

Greg now slapped Flash's back, even if it was a bit harsher than he intended it to be. "The kid means good, he's just barkin' up the wrong tree. Now why don't yuh two younglings go about yer normal lives? Ah may be old, but Ah don't really need any 'special attention'."

The look he got from Batman was enough to let Greg knew he wasn't buying a bit of the story.

Luckily for both Greg and Flash, at that precise moment the intercom of the Watchtower came to life.

 _"_ _Batman, you are needed at the Monitor Bay."_

Greg smiled as broadly as he could beneath the bandana as Batman glanced over him once more. Then, without a word, the man in the dark clothes turned around, cape billowing behind him, and stalked off.

After neither hero could see Batman anymore, Vigilante whistled loudly. "Well… He seemed like a regular Chatty Cathy!"

Flash groaned softly at that and Greg couldn't help but chuckle at him. Clearly, he was another that was afraid of the Bat.

"Mr. Saunders, please don't go around hiding in supply closets! I'm supposed to be taking you to your room, and Batman would kill me if anything happened to you because you managed to escape my sights!"

Greg waved the man away and began to walk away from the supply closet he had previously been hiding in, "Come on, kid! There's no reason ta act so afraid!"

Flash immediately ran after him, "I can't lose you, Greg!" He yelled, but when he spoke next, his tone of voice was much more serious, "Look, you guys gave up a lot for this world and the League's just trying to make sure you guys are as comfortable as possible."

The man continued talking about something or another, but the cowboy wasn't paying any more attention. Those words struck Greg's heart like lightning and he immediately stopped walking, hands going to clutch at his hips to keep himself from doing anything stupid the blabbering man.

It wasn't Flash's fault that two good men had to die. Nor was it his fault. But Greg had both loved and respected Lee Travis and Wing How and any reminder that they were gone and weren't ever coming back… Well… That just struck a chord deep in his heart.

"Ah am aware of our sacrifice, _Flash._ "

The red clad man stopped talking as soon as he heard his name.

"Ah am also aware that in these new world with mechanical doohickies, I'm at sea!"

The worry on Flash's face melted into confusion, making Greg shake his head and wave him away.

"Ah need some dynamite."

"I don't think I can help you with that. But I'm pretty sure-"

Greg cut him off before the man could embarrass himself, "Ah need some whiskey, kid. Dynamite is slang for whiskey."

Flash's face immediately deflated in mortification.

"Oh."

With another shake of his head, the dark haired man began to walk away, silently wondering just why he had been forced to come to a time so far away from his own.

It didn't really seem like he would be fitting in any time soon.

 **I really hope you liked it. If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid. Just review.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Saunders, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Vigilante had been busy reading an old copy of Rolling Stone- one from the 1980's- trying to catch up on the years in music he had missed when a man with a blonde goatee, a dark green domino mask, and too green clothing walked into the small rec area.

After the small confrontation with Flash, the speedy man had led him to this hole-in-the-wall that held only a small sofa, big enough for no more than two, a stack of old magazines, and a mini-fridge at the corner beside the sofa. Greg hadn't wanted to go anywhere filled with too much technology and Flash had been kind enough to lead him here.

Apparently, this had been a room created just to hide the Flash whenever he got in trouble. The door was collapsible and blended in perfectly with the walls to its sides. Unfortunately, though, the collection of comic books Flash kept in here had been swapped out for these older magazines by one of his fellow partners in crime.

"Howdy, stranger." Greg tipped his hat at the blonde man, even while looking with wary eyes at the arrows in the quiver strapped to the man's back.

Ever since Tom, he'd found himself more suspicious of bows and arrows than any other weapon. It was a bit of an irrational worry, seeing how he could protect himself very well with his revolvers, but the man that once used those very weapons had given him quite the blow with his betrayal.

But it didn't seem like the blonde had noticed Greg's apprehension because he smiled broadly at the cowboy. Why, though, Greg had no idea.

"I know what you might want right now is peace and quiet, but when I heard you were actually here… Well, I've always wanted to meet you."

Greg quirked an eyebrow at those words, but sat up straight and placed the magazine he had been skimming over back on the stack, giving the man his full attention.

"Really? Ah never thought yuh young people would ever get ta know 'bout me."

The smile this stranger wore was starting to worry the cowboy. He already didn't trust archers because of his past experience with them, yet here was one that seemed to already trust him fully.

He just wasn't ready for this future.

"Yeah, I've watched all your movies, listenes to all your songs, and even heard most of your in-"

Greg raised his hand to stop him right there. "Fella, Ah'm still rather caught off guard by my reality. Ah am flattered, really. But Ah'd just like ta regain my bearings 'fore Ah think any more 'bout the life Ah used ta have."

The archer's face fell at the not quite rejection and Greg felt a bit bad for making his smile drop, but he didn't really want to hear about a past so distant yet near to him.

He didn't know if the rest of the soldier's had experienced the same, but when he had been blasted back into the past by Nebula Man, it had literally only felt as if two years had passed. He had arrived at the small town of South Pass, Wyoming, and he had made a real life for himself. But, even if he had lived some time there, he never thought he would never be able to live his 1945 way of living again.

He had apparently gotten there for the year 1874 or 1875- only _seventy_ years into the past- but he'd somehow made do. The town was yet another Gold Rush towns, it had sprung up because of the precious rock to be found in the Carissa mines but had reached a type of plateau by the time Greg had arrived. After a fight over the constitution- one that apparently was very big for such a small town- the folks in the town didn't care much for the law so they'd instead chose to live lawless lives.

Luckily for the sheriff, Greg had arrived just in time before he got killed by an angry drunk, one that had gotten tired of having to live a life where women were being allowed to vote.

With a soft sigh, Greg shook those thoughts out of his head. That was a distant life now. He didn't live in the past anymore. He hadn't changed too much of it, either. Thinking about those nice drunkards that wanted him to sing every night and the caring missus that always made sure he had food on the table was just not appropriate for right now.

"Oh… I'm sorry to bother you." The blonde looked away for a second, then shook his head and regained his smile, albeit softer, "The name's Arrow, by the way. Green Arrow."

Now he stuck his hand out and Greg stood up to shake it.

"Normally, Ah'd repay the kindness by tellin' yuh my name, but Ah reckon that'd be a tad bit redundant."

Once more Green Arrow's smile broadened- Greg, though, chalked that up to meeting his supposed idol- and, once they had shook hands long enough, stepped back from the cowboy.

They stayed quiet for a while before Green Arrow motioned to leave.

Well, I guess I shouldn't bother you anymore."

Greg didn't stop him from leaving.

As soon as the green archer's back was not visible any more, Greg sighed heavily and sat back on the small couch, placing his head in between both his hands. Who knew that one small encounter like that could leave him feeling so bad?

He could now remember his first day in South Pass. He had been so scared yet excited that the sheriff would have sent him to the loony bin had the town been in range of any.

With a shake of his head, Greg growled softly and looked down at the magazines to his right.

He should just forget the past and leave it where it belonged, in the past. The future was now and he had to pull up his pants and grab it by the reigns. He wasn't some coward to fear the unknown. No, he just had to get to know the future a bit more before he actually tried anything drastic.

* * *

 _"I shall be retiring." Sir Justin announced, sighing heavily._

 _The four men that once belonged to the Law's Legionnaires were all seated around a large table, one that was usually used by the Justice League to hold meetings of the seven founders. Today, though, the seven heroes had allowed the four mourning heroes to stay in the room until they were able to explain their situation to the rest of the large organization called the Justice League._

 _"Yuh sure, Sir Justin?" Greg asked, looking at his friend with shocked eyes._

 _Justin Arthur was a man that had felt the perils of time travel before. Well, it technically wasn't time travel, seeing how he was frozen. But he knew the woes of living in one century one day and waking up in one much different from his own the next._

 _Maybe it was because of this experience that he seemed to be taking it in strides, unlike two other members of their small team._

 _Pat Dugan, unlike his young ward, Sylvester, was taking the news almost as well as the knight. The only difference was that Pat was much too busy keeping Sylvester from doing anything stupid to actually think about the life he could be building in this new time._

 _"I am sure, mine friend. This century... It doth not seem made for the likes of-" The blonde man stopped himself for a moment, then finished. "Me."_

 _Greg, though, knew what his friend had meant._

 _Us. This century wasn't made for them. Nor were they made for it._

 _His hands balled into fists even as he did his best to keep a smile on his face, seeing how his bandana was pooled around his throat at the moment. He couldn't hide behind it around them, though. His friends knew him so much they knew when he was frowning behind the piece of cloth. Oddly enough, they never seemed to notice when his smiles didn't quite reach his eyes._

 _"Ah understand, Goldilocks." Greg breathed out and Sir Justin frowned at him, even though it seemed like he was having trouble to not turn it into a smile._

 _"That is not-"_

 _"Mine name, Ah know, Sir Justin. Ah'm just jestin'." Greg smiled, then placed his hands on the table. "Ah just... A smile's better than a sob in my mind."_

 _Sir Justin nodded in understanding, completely aware of how difficult the situation at the moment was. Greg was proud to call him a friend._

 _Both Sylvester and Pat had remained quiet as the two friends spoke, each man much too wrapped up in their own thoughts to listen to the small argument. Hearing that Shining Knight would be retiring wasn't much of a shocker, though. For both men had thought of hanging up their proverbial capes after some thought._

 _"We'll miss you, Justin." Sylvester told his friend, smiling at the blonde. "But I'm not going to give up the good fight just yet. You, Pat?"_

 _The red headed man smiled broadly as he crossed his arms. "And leave you to the wolves, kid? You need me and you know it."_

 _Greg chuckled as Sylvester scoffed indignantly, but spoke up before the youngest of the group could start an argument with his body guard. "Ah don't know what ta do just yet... But I'm thinkin' 'bout headin' back home 'fore makin' any decisions."_

 _The three men now looked at him with looks varying from confusion to a bit of annoyance._

 _"But you don't have a home anymore, Greg. Batman told you it was repossessed a few months after your disappearance."_

 _The cowboy only rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. "Ah am aware o' that, Kid. By home Ah meant Wyomin'. See what's changed and what's still the same."_

 _His three friends shared a look of concern after he spoke, but Greg didn't comment on that._

 _He_ needed _to see what was left. He just had to._

* * *

"How's the reading?"

His hands tightened just slightly at yet another interruption, and Greg cursed softly in his head as he averted his gaze from the article on surviving nuclear war to look up to whoever had decided to cut in on his quality time.

It was a red headed woman he had never seen before. She had stunning green eyes with plump red lips, which rested on a heart shaped face. Her body was just as beautiful as her face and she wore a type of yellow... Pant suit, Greg guessed. He didn't know much about women's fashion.

"Ah'm not sure if this information on survivin' nuclear war is accurate, but it sure does beat readin' 'bout guys Ah've never heard 'bout." Greg shrugged, closing the magazine to look at the woman fully.

A soft laugh left her lips and Greg didn't fully understand why, his words weren't funny at all, but he smiled softly to try and not seem too awkward about the whole thing.

"The name's Shayera, gun slinger." Now the woman offered him her hand and Greg took it without much apprehension.

He regretted it a bit because the muscles on her arms were _not_ all for show.

"Greg Saunders. It's a pleasure ta meet yuh, ma'am." He tipped his hat at her after she had let go of his hand and she smiled softly at him.

"You have manners. That's something new to see."

Those words confused Greg a bit. "Aren't all men supposed ta treat a pretty lady like you with courtesy?" Now he shrugged, "Maybe it's just 'cause Ah was raised differently."

"A whole century different."

It was now, when the woman moved to sit down beside him on the sofa, that he noticed the large gray wings that protruded from her back. His eyes widened at the sight of real _wings_ on a _woman_ \- he was used to seeing them on animals that couldn't speak fully like Winged Victory or birds- but didn't dare say anything because he knew it would seem rude.

Shayera sighed as she leaned into the small sofa, clearly comfortable here.

"Flash _so_ owes me for helping him make this place..." She told herself in a barely audible voice, then looked at Greg.

She noticed the way his eyes immediately looked away and she chuckled softly. "You don't have to be so proper, Greg. If you like, you can ask about my wings."

The cowboy kept his gaze away but Shayera swore she saw his cheeks warm up slightly, "Now that just wouldn't be proper, ma'am."

A silence fell over them, Shayera looking on in amusement at the man as he tried to keep his eyes on anything that wasn't the winged woman.

"They're part of me. Biologically, I mean." Shayera shrugged, looking away so the man would finally relax. "I'm Thanagarian. What humans call an alien." Her words come out softly, and Greg swore there was a bit of melancholy hidden inside.

Greg nodded at the blunt yet vague explanation, not daring to ask anything else. He knew how hard past memories could be.

"Can't say Ah'm mighty surprised ta hear that." He breathed out, but stayed quiet afterwards.

So the two just sat there, enjoying their slightly awkward silence.

 **I hope you liked it! Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

Greg found himself interacting more and more with the Shayera character as the days passed by.

It's not that he'd been planning on getting to know her more or even trying to build any type of relationship with her... It had just happened. She seemed to like him and sought him out on her free time and Greg couldn't really excuse himself from seeing her because it was a known fact to everyone on the metallic contraption known as the Watchtower that he basically lived there now.

Seeing how he had lived with very limited resources back in the 40's, in his adequate time period, he now found himself with not a penny to his name.

Greg Saunders didn't exist in this year, nor did he matter.

So Batman had been kind of enough to offer helping him create a new identity- including all types of paperwork needed for survival now-a-days- and give him a room in the Watchtower until he was able to actually go down and face the world.

Of course, Greg had needed a few things to be able to continue living in the Watchtower, but Batman had somehow solved all those problems without Greg's knowledge of it. The man just knew that one day his small closet was filled with clothes that fit him almost perfectly and his bathroom held everything needed to maintain good hygiene.

He had been a bit freaked out at how well the clothes fit him, but he'd always been a strong believer of 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth'. He was just happy he had clothes to change into while up in the Watchtower.

One day, Greg had been busy reading a book Flash had recommended- _"Hunger Games is just perfect, Greg! You should totally read it!"_ \- in the cafeteria when he heard someone sitting down in front of him.

He looked up from the reading and found Shayera smiling broadly at him.

The cowboy quirked an eyebrow at her expression, knowing full well already that Shayera was a bit of a spitfire by nature.

"Ma'am." He nodded, tipping his hat at her.

The woman pursed her lips in slight annoyance, "You know I hate it when you call me that, Greg! It makes me sound old!"

The man only smirked softly at her words and shook his head, but didn't say any more. Usually when Shayera popped in during lunch time, she would eat with him and then leave.

He didn't fully understand why she had attached herself to him so quickly. Surely she must have had dozens of other friends to talk to, no just little old him. It was beginning to worry him how much she liked to be with him.

"Anyway, cowboy," Shayera drawled, rolling her eyes, "I'm going to get some lunch. Want some?"

He looked her over once, examining her seemingly relaxed pose and noted that it was fake. Something had her on edge.

"Not really, Shayera. Ah already ate with Flash an' Green Arrow."

He had grown closer to those two as well.

To Flash because the man didn't seem like he was capable of _not_ being someone's friend. And to Green Arrow because the blonde seemed really excited whenever he was able to talk to Greg.

The red headed woman slightly deflated at what he had said, but he waved him off, "Well, I hope you don't mind accompanying me while I eat. I have something important to tell you."

This caught Greg's attention, naturally, and he nodded as she stood up to fetch her food. The Thanagaryan woman walked away to get some food, but her unoccupied seat didn't stay that way for longer than ten seconds because now a dark skinned woman with sharp black eyes was leaning against the back of the chair, looking at Greg with seemingly calmed determination.

Greg blinked at the woman's sudden appearance- shocked by how fast she had appeared and at the fact that segregation was in fact _not real anymore_ , and damn was it different to see blacks and whites sitting together and talking to each other like good friends- but still greeted her.

He still believed in cordiality, after all.

"Ma'am." He told her, tipping his hat in hello.

The woman looked at him for a few more seconds before smiling coyly and taking the hat from his head.

"This is a nice hat you got on here, 'slinger." She told him, seemingly analyzing every crack and crevice of the white hat.

"Ah rightly appreciate the praise, ma'am." Greg spoke softly, running his hand through his black hair as he looked at the woman.

What she was doing there, he knew not. All he knew was that these future folk didn't seem to know much about personal space and how much someone could value that.

"Tell me, Vig, what's going on with you and Shayera?" The short haired woman cut right to the chase, even if she still held onto Greg's hat.

Now she twirled it around with her right hand, wrist moving around in a circular motion as her piercing gaze continued on the man from the past.

The question caught Greg off guard, of course. Shayera? Now why would anyone be asking about her? But he only shrugged and leaned back into his seat, the book he had been reading a few minutes ago now resting forgotten on the edge of the table.

"Ah guess one could call us friends, ma'am. Quite frankly, Ah don't know fer sure, but Ah don't know what ta say about much these days."

Now the woman leaned forward on the table, looking at Greg with an even more piercing stare, and Greg couldn't help but lean further back and gulp. Just what was it with these days and lack of personal space?

Luckily, though, the woman sat back in the chair with a huff and crossed her arms, hat still held tightly. "I guess you're telling the truth, 'slinger. Can't say that surprises me." She looked away from the man to some other point in the cafeteria, but quickly looked back at him with a soft smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

She rose from her seat and placed the hat on the table, winking at the man.

"Name's Vixen, by the way."

Then she sauntered off, leaving Greg perplexed at how odd people were in this year.

Just what was all that about?

But Shayera soon came back to the table and smiled at Greg's hat on the table.

"What happened, Greg? Did you forget how hat's were supposed to work?" She asked sarcastically, picking the object up to offer it to the man.

Greg's cheeks burned slightly at the insult but shook his head and grabbed what was offered.

Shayera chuckled at her friend's clear embarrassment and decided to spare him from further humiliation by changing the topic.

"Anyways, I wanted to tell you something important."

The man crossed his arms in a slight huff with indignation, but his ears perked up at her words. Something important?

"And what might that be, Shayera?" He asked, clearing his throat before to not allow his voice to crack.

His cheeks still felt a bit warm... He had just noticed Vixen's costume...

"I just finished talking to Batman and he told me he found something that might cheer you up."

Greg quirked an eyebrow at this and Shayera waved her fork around, "Well, he didn't say those words exactly. But he _implied_ that you might be happy to learn of these recent developments."

Now she began to eat and Greg couldn't help but inwardly scold the woman. One couldn't just start saying that something is important _and_ might make someone happy then begin to eat! That was just rude.

But Greg was patient and could wait for the woman to say what she wanted to whenever she wanted.

Apparently, Shayera was patient too, and decided to eat her whole lunch before continuing the conversation with the man.

"Wow!" She gasped, green eyes wide as she looked at Greg, who now had the book in his hands once more. "If I had done that with _anyone else_ , they would have chewed me out mid-meal!"

Greg resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "It's called bein' polite, Shayera."

She didn't give the same consideration as Greg had given her because she blatantly rolled her eyes at him.

"Anyway! As I was telling you before, Greg, when Batman went searching through your records, he found some pretty sad stuff." Now she sighed and rested her left elbow on the table, leaning her cheek against her hand. "Your brothers are all dead, just like your mother and father, and all your aunts and uncles are either in the ground or too senile to ever recognize you. I'm sure you know of your grandparents already."

Sometimes, Greg hated the bluntness of this newer generation. Now was not an exception. Not a single sentence managed to enter his understanding without leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked Batman for information on his family...

"But!" The woman cried, noticing Greg's worsening mood, "He found some good news amidst all that sadness. Your cousin, Cyril Saunders, and his sister are still alive. They're a bit old, you know, seeing how they were born in he forties and all, but..." She didn't know how to end the sentence so opted to just leave it hanging, but she _did_ offer Greg an apologetic looking smile.

Greg sighed softly and did his best to smile back, "Cyril's alive? Ah didn't know he had a sister."

Shayera nodded and smiled broadly, "Yeah, and I've already gotten clearance to take you to meet them!"

It took Greg a minute to process what she had said, then shook his head and looked at her with wide eyes, "What do yuh mean 'Ah could meet 'em'? Ah thought y'all had told me ta move on an' forget 'bout my old life!"

Shayera nodded but shrugged, "I spoke with the rest of the founders and they agreed with me. I think it's because Batman was on my side, but, who cares?" Now she looked him straight in the eyes, "They deserve closure, Greg. It may be too late for your siblings, but it doesn't have to be for your two cousins."

The brown eyed man looked at her for another second before leaning back in his chair and scratching at the top of his head. "They'd actually let me off this hunk o' metal? Ah thought Ah'd have ta wait 'til Batman finished his job."

The red haired woman shrugged once more, "That was what we had initially said. But Batman insisted on you meeting both your cousins before it was too late." Now she sighed and looked away from the man. "Apparently family's more important than something as silly as a new identity."

Now she stood up to throw away her food and Greg stayed seated for a while, much too busy mulling over his thoughts to say anything else about the matter.

The last time he had seen his cousin Cyril was when the boy was no older than three years and as cute as a button. His memory of the babe was slightly fuzzy, but he remembered clearly the licking he had received when his aunt had found him carrying the kid around. Apparently, no matter how old Greg was, he would always have to ask his aunt permission before doing anything in her house.

Those thoughts brought up yet another bitter stir in his chest because they made him think of the family he had unwillingly left in the past, but shook his head with a sigh and began to think over the conversation with Shayera.

And he noticed something he hadn't bothered to notice before.

"Wait a minute..." He muttered to himself, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. "Did she say 'we' when talkin' 'bout the founders? Does that mean... She's like Flash?"

Now he glanced up in time to see Shayera wave goodbye at him before turning and leaving the cafeteria.

The thought left Greg's mind reeling.

"Damn... Ah've still got some gettin' used to!"

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	4. Chapter 4

Greg Saunders was actually impressed with how fast Shayera managed to get him onto the Earth. The bright haired woman had smiled broadly over at him as they made their way down the Watchtower's long hallways after she had picked him up from his room.

Of course, when he had first found her standing in front of his door with her mischievous smile in place, Greg had wondered just what she was doing there. It had been about a week since she had told him that the League had agreed to send him down to his home to achieve some type of closure with what was left of his family, and he had waited patiently to go down to Wyoming once more.

During that week, he had been dragged just about everywhere in the Watchtower except for the supposed 'reactor room'- God knew he had no idea what _that_ meant- by a slap-happy Flash. The red-clad man would chat about everything and anything that came to his mind as he pulled Greg from one room to another, apparently much too preoccupied with talking to notice that the poor man didn't seem like he even wanted to find out about the latest gossip on the Watchtower.

He had also met a lot more heroes. Fire, Ice, an odd feller by the name of the Question, Black Canary, the Atom, Orion, and plenty others whose names he couldn't really recall at the moment had all been nice and accepting of him, and barely even asked about where he had come from. He had even managed to strike up a tentative friendship with the odd feller called Doctor Fate.

Even though the blue and gold clad man was extremely odd, Greg found that he was able to speak with him about his own time period without feeling like he was speaking to a child because he too knew of it. Apparently being a Lord of Order had allowed the Doc to see quite a bit of human evolution and had even given him the chance to listen to one of Greg's records before he had gone missing.

Green Arrow had continued trying to make Greg share his feelings of friendship, and trepidation be darned, the damn archer was accomplishing at his task. He would bring up records and recordings of Greg's old performances every now and then and leave them with him in his room, where Greg would be able to enjoy them. And not only that, but he ended up even buying some furnishings and decorations for his room so it didn't feel cold and unhomely. Which is why Greg now had a comfortable sofa with a thick blanket that had a native american pattern on it strewn across its back, along with a wooden, acoustic guitar and brand new hat. Apart from that, he now had a nifty record player, along with different types of records that the man had bought him so he could 'catch up' with music.

Until now, his favorite had been Johnny Cash.

"Shayera, yuh don't have to pull my arm off its' socket." Greg grumbled slightly, finding that the woman was much stronger and her grip much tighter than what she looked like she could ever muster.

"Aren't you excited, Honky Tonk? You're getting to see Cyril again. And you're going to meet his younger sister." She asked with a smile, all the while quickly pulling him over to the main hub of the Watchtower.

"Ah guess it's all good, ma'am, but yuh don't have ta be so pushy an' crazy. It's my family Ah'm gettin' ta meet. Yuh don't have ta act as if you're excited over this." He tried to shrug, but it was a hard feat to accomplish with the woman's steely grip on his arm.

The red head chanced a look at Greg, which allowed him to see her bright smile, then she pointed out, "Even though it's not my family, I'm still the kind of person that gets excited over helping others out... It's kind of the reason why I'm a hero, you know."

Greg quirked an eyebrow at her explanation, but decided to breath out and just let her be. The woman had proved over the past few days that she was strong headed enough to pose competition to his own father and it would not be worth it if he tried to go against her wishes. So he allowed himself to be taken over to the rather confusing teleportation pads at the very center of the Watchtower and didn't question a single thing when she turned to Mr. Terrific and told him to send them down to Wyoming.

In a flash of light and an extremely unpleasant feeling the cowboy didn't ever want to repeat again in his life, the cold and unfeeling metal walls of the Watchtower were replaced by the hot sun and soft sand of the land he had once roamed freely. As soon as the sun hit his face like it once had, Greg closed his eyes to rejoice in the warm pleasure that spread through him. It had been _so_ long since he had last experienced this. He wanted to appreciate it as much as he could.

"Feels good?" Shayera asked softly, and Greg noted that her voice was much more delicate than any tone she had ever used around him before.

Still, he breathed in the fresh air and smiled broadly, "Feels amazin'." He answered honestly, then turned towards her. "There ain't a sun like this anywhere else in the world. Only in Wyomin' can an old soul like myself enjoy the life he had once lived... At least... Experience the environment he once lived in."

Shayera smiled tenderly at him before she nodded over to her right, where Greg could see a lone, rickety, two story house he faintly remembered. Even though he was only two years older than he had been the last time he had seen that house, it was blurry in his memory.

The house stood alone in a large stretch of land, but he could see the likes of a small ranch to its left some miles away. The tell tale signs of horse whinnies could be heard and Greg felt his heart swell so much he swore it may have just burst out of his chest. The smells of the ranch were some he had come to complete miss while he was stuck up in space and he was extremely happy that Shayera had decided to drag him all the way to those odd contraptions that had made him appear here suddenly.

So busy was he rejoicing in returning to his roots that he didn't even bother to question just how he had gone from being in a station above space all the way down to the Earth. Nor did he notice the screen door that led inside the house being opened, but he sure did notice the older man and woman making their way towards both of them with slight difficulty.

To not make their trip too long or hard, Greg closed the distance between them and looked right into the face of who he guessed must have been Cyril Saunders at the present moment. Those light brown eyes he had once seen on the face of a newborn babe were the very ones he now found on the face of this aged male. He had become quite the man. Never in his years would Greg have ever imagined ever seeing Cyril so grown up while he himself was still so young.

"Citrus, is that you?"

Honestly, the only thing that came to his mind was to revert to the old nickname he would call the babe back when he was still in his own time to see the child.

The man with the completely white hair smiled softly, even though the woman beside him looked more confused than relieved, and soon enough Greg found himself hugging the aged man. Cyril was a broad backed man who wore a comfortable pair of jeans, riding boots, and a red button up flannel shirt beneath a jean jacket. His hair was short and soft, but as white as snow.

"Ma' told me only cousin Greg ever called me with such a prepostorous name. Grown as he was, he proved to be ever the jokester." Cyril breathed out, holding the young man in front of him at arms length to look him well over. "Only one Saunders in history has had green eyes like that. Clementine, com'ere an' meet the cousin yuh never got ta know."

Greg smiled softly at Cyril then looked over at the woman named Clementine, keeping his smile in place. The woman was the spitting image of their grandmother. She was not heavyset, but she was not thin either. She was an older woman with enough meat on her bones and her face had smile lines that Greg was not completely accustomed to seeing in people from his family. She wore a purple dress with black flats, and her graying hair was pulled back into a loose bun.

"Greg Saunders, meet Clementine Kornagy Saunders." Cyril smiled broadly as he pulled them both into a hug, making all three of them hug one another.

With a slightly uncomfortable chuckle, Greg brought his arms around both of his cousins, all the while Clementine rolled her eyes at her brother's antics and patted Greg's back softly.

"Don't mind this old coot. He's lived too many years running free. We're sure some of them were spent fryin' his brains up in the big city." She spoke with a soft, yet steady voice.

As he took one step back and looked on at both siblings, Greg could have imagined both of them running wild around the ranch that belonged to their family, dressed in hand-me-downs from the rest of their siblings, laughing and getting in trouble as their mother called on them to stop mucking around and to enter the house so they could already eat supper.

With a slightly saddened sigh, Greg smiled at them both, "It is an outright pleasure ta meet the both of yuh." He answered honestly, all the while he dug his hands into his pants pockets.

At the moment he wore a comfortable pair of jeans with a simple red shirt and his trusty boots. He had left his hat and bandanna back at the station in hopes that he would not need to use his Vigilante persona when back in his home.

"Yuh know..." Cyril began slyly, elbowing Greg in the gut, "You're not the only Saunders ta have lived a dangerous life."

Greg's eyes widened at how nonchalantly his cousin was saying this, but Clementine only puffed out a breath and shook her head. "Him and his FBI days! Miss Shayera, would yuh like ta come in for a glass of tea? Cyril here is gonna go on an' on 'bout his supposed adventures and talk poor Greg's ears off!"

"That's a grand idea, Clem! Will y'all be stayin' for lunch?" Cyril asked after having waved at his sister, "The rest of the family is out in the town at the moment fetching some supplies so it'll be some time 'fore they get back. An' us old folks wouldn't rightly mind havin' the company of such young souls."

Greg felt slightly uncomfortable upon being called young but he agreed to stay without missing a beat. It had been too late to ever really connect with his father, mother, brother, or the rest of his siblings, but he could at least get to know who his cousins were and what they had made with their lives. And getting first hand accounts about what happened to the rest of their family wouldn't be such a bad thing to hear.

"I think we will." He answered, moving to follow Cyril into the house.

Shayera followed not too far behind, a small smile on her face as she saw Greg finally gaining some light to his eyes.

~/~

"How did Auntie ever explain mah disappearance ta yuh?" Greg asked as he nursed a mug of black coffee in his hands as he sat at the small breakfast table by the house's kitchen.

Shayera sat beside him with a glass of tea and Clementine to her left, all the while Cyril walked across the family room to try and find the old family scrapbook that had documented the family's history ever since Greg's great grandfather had started recording it.

"I was born about three years after yuh disappeared, Greg, so I was never fully affected by what happened to you." She answered honestly, shrugging slightly as she took a sip from her own tea. "But whenever Charles asked wherever yuh had gone to, she would always tell us yuh just abandoned the family. She wasn't much too happy with yuh suddenly leavin'."

Greg remembered Charles well. He had been another cousin of his, this time from another aunt of his. He had also been old enough to remember Greg after he had disappeared.

"An' she hated the name Greg after yuh vanished!" Cyril called from the other room, entering with a large leather bound book in his hands. "Cursed every and anyone named Greg from here ta the high heavens!" With a shake of his head, the man frowned softly, "No sirree, Momma did _not_ like the name Greg."

After having said this, Cyril placed the book right in front of Greg and opened it up to a page that showed a picture of him. "Only reason she didn't rip up any picture o' yuh was 'cause _yer_ ma kept this book after yuh left. And Aunt Belle could not stand the idea of yuh havin' just up and left us all." With a heavy sigh, he retracted his hands from the old and worn photograph of Greg and placed his hands on his hips. "She died some five years after yuh left... It was a sad endeavor."

Greg looked down at himself, the picture that perfectly reflected who he was at the moment save for a few wrinkles and much cleaner kept hair, and couldn't help the pang of nostalgic pain that hit him. Unwittingly, he had left behind a whole family the moment he chose to don the Vigilante costume. Seeking justice for all, he had taken away a son, cousin, uncle, and God knows what else he might have been if he had never dressed up.

"We never fully felt the shock o' yuh vanishin', Greg, but all of our older family members sure did. They all died with the pain of never knowin' just what truly happened ta yuh." Clementine breathed out, looking at him with soft light brown eyes.

Then Cyril suddenly slapped him on the back, actually managing to shock Greg.

"An' here we find out yuh were the most adventurous Saunders that ever did live! A superhero! Our cousin! Why, when Miss Shayera first contacted us to tell us yuh were still alive, Ah couldn't believe my ears!" He smiled broadly, but then shrugged, "But Ah wasn't too shocked. We Saunders are a long line of adventurers an' dangerous individuals."

Clementine nodded in agreement, "Even though none of us have been as crazy as to don a mask and fight crime, I myself became a police officer and even sheriff of this county while Speed Saunders over there became the FBI's prized spy durin' the Cold War."

Even though he didn't fully understand just what she had meant with Cyril's job, Greg understood completely that what they were telling him was that his free spirit wasn't too uncommon in their familial line. But he could've told them that easily by telling them 'bout his father and grandfather. Now _those_ two were lawmen that deserved some type of recognition.

"So yuh aren't too bothered by my... Career of choice?" Greg asked after a beat of silence, to which both siblings shook their heads.

"Yuh aren't too shabby when it comes ta fightin', Miss Shayera said!" Cyril smiled, while Clementine asked, "Are you goin' ta be pursuing a singing career again?"

Greg's eyes widened at the question, actually caught off guard by it, then narrowed them and scratched at his chin.

"Ah never rightly thought of it." He shrugged after a while, taking a sip from his coffee. "Music ain't what it used ta be, if yuh ask me. But Ah don't think Ah'm the man ta change what it is now." He answered truthfully, which made Shayera smile at him.

"You'll never know it 'til you try it, Honky Tonk." Then she looked at his cousins and winked at them. "Who knows? Maybe the world needs a revival of your late grandfather's music."

Both Cyril and Clementine smiled at the red headed woman and Greg was left kind of lost as to what she could have possibly meant, but he didn't get much chance to question it because Cyril asked another question and diverted from it by beginning to speak of his own adventures with the FBI.

And as he did so, Clementine began to prepare the lunch's food with the help of Shayera.

By the time they had finished up the small reunion and all the food had been eaten and the drinks had been drank, Greg had to admit that he was rather sure that Cyril and Clementine rightfully bore the Saunders name. Even in their older age they kept their youthful energy about them and always seemed ready to crack one joke or another. In his life, only the younguns were allowed to be so carefree. Never had he seen his father or mother smiled as broadly as those two had.

While his father had been a good lawman, he had never been such a caring father as what Cyril seemed to be from the way he spoke of his daughter, whom was busy getting her doctorate's to fulfill a lifelong dream. But back in his time, his father couldn't have afforded to coddle Greg or any of his other siblings. The wars and depression had been tough and desolate, which was why most of the adults in his family were so cold towards the younger generations.

Still, it was refreshing to see old folks with positive outlooks for once in his life.

When he was transported up to the Watchtower with Shayera, the cowboy felt a dull glow inside of him. It was small and barely perceptible, but it was _there._ Meeting with his cousins had been just the right thing to do. And now they even wanted to introduce him to the rest of their extended family.

"What are you going to do now, Greg?" Shayera asked after they had stepped off the teleportation pad, placing a hand on Greg's shoulder.

His shoulders were squared and his jaw set and his eyes had a fire to them she had not seen before.

"Ah'm gonna pick up my guitar an' see if Ah can still play." He nodded to himself, then smiled at Shayera, "Then Ah'm gonna play a small concert fer the League ta see if I'm any good when it comes to the modern audiences."

Shayera smiled at him, patted his shoulder, then said, "Well then, good luck, Honky Tonk. I'll see you at your concert."

"Ah'll see yuh later, ma'am." Greg waved once at her, then turned in the direction of his room.

What Clementine had asked had struck him.

Maybe he could stop sulking about not being in his own time period anymore and make a real life for himself here. Just like he had in the Old West. And he would try to do it the same way he had done it in his past two time periods: through his music.

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	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Greg did when he reached his room was to think up of what songs he could possibly sing to a crowd he barely even knew.

Back in the old west, it hadn't been too hard to please the crowds over at the saloon. Drunkards and bar keeps were usually easy to tide over, and the saloon girls would dance to just about anything to make a quick buck. The songs he would sing to them came to him as easily as strumming his guitar did, so making songs up for that crowd and remembering old cowboy ballads had never been to difficult back when he lived in the past.

But now he had no idea how he should proceed. These folks had never worked on a drive, nor had they experienced the same hardships he had shared with those of the past. The songs he would have thought to sing to such a large group of adults just did not seem appropriate when thinking of all the different factors he barely ever paid attention to before.

He was at a complete loss, he noted with chagrin. With a frown, the man took off his hat and sat down on the plush sofa Green Arrow had gifted him, all the while his eyes never left his guitar.

Usually, he could pick it up and start plucking without a second thought and a song would come from his soul without any difficulty whatsoever. Yet now that he looked at it, there was a gnawing feeling at the back of his head that made him feel like he just couldn't pick it up at the moment.

He had been so excited to put on a small show for the Leaguers, to show them that he was more than just some ancient relic... Now he didn't even dare try and carry the guitar that had been with him since his first week in the past.

With a heavy sigh, the man hung his head and placed it in his hands.

What was he to do? Now that; for the first time in his life; music did not come easily to him?

Fortunately for him the form of a distraction from this most daunting moment in his life came in a knock on the door.

Slowly and tiredly the cowboy stood up from the couch and made his way over to the door, then opened it without so much as checking just who might have been at his door. And when he saw who it was, he was actually surprised.

"Miss Vixen? Ta what do Ah owe the pleasure o' your visit?"

The dark skinned woman smiled up at Greg with bright eyes, then she asked him, "What are you up to, cowboy? T said you got back about three hours ago."

Upon hearing this, the man's eyes widened, "Three hours? Why, it's only felt like a few _minutes_ have passed!"

This made the woman smile broadly up at him and wrap both her arms around his waist- which immediately made the man tense up and wonder just what in tarnation the woman was up to- while she said, "You really get lost in your head, don't you, slinger? Now, what was so important that you holed yourself up in here for so long without showing your handsome mug to the world at all?"

Uncomfortably, Greg tried his best to not pry the woman's arms from around him and answered with a nervous chuckle, "Ah was just thinkin' heavily, that's all... Think yuh could let go o' me now, Ms. Vixen?" He asked politely, as if he hoped more than expected for her to do so.

She pursed her lips up at him for one moment, then nodded and released him. "And what were you thinking so heavily about?"

Without any type of hesitation the woman then side stepped him and entered his room, eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the sight of the lack of too many personal items all around. But her eyes widened just a bit at the sight of the record player and guitar leaning against it, then she turned to Greg, "Relieving your old glory days, Greg?"

It took the man a moment to figure out that Vixen had entered his quarters with complete surety of herself, but once the almost mind boggling fact had caught up with him, he had turned around to see her scrutinizing his room.

"Not as much as yuh'd think." He answered with a soft sigh as he closed the doorway and leaned against the door. "Ah wise soul gave me some good advice... Ah was just thinkin' o' how Ah'd be able ta achieve my goals."

"Really?" She hummed, smile playing at her extremely glossy lips. "Do your goals have anything to do with your past musical career?"

For a moment, Greg thought of how he should answer the woman. She was strong willed and did not back down easily. And he just would not feel right if he wound up lying to her over something as trivial as singing. Besides, if he had it his way, he would wind up singing in front of the rest of the heroes to get over some of the stage rust he had acquired over the time he had spent without performing at all.

"Actually, they do." He nodded as he raised his hand to scratch at his chin, "But Ah just can't seem ta find a song ta sing..." After he had said this, a small idea popped into his head, "Hey, Vixen, you're from this time, right? An' you listen ta now-a-day's music. Think yuh can help me find something ta sing in front o' these heroes?"

The smile that came over her face was not lecherous at all, nor did it seem to house any hidden intentions. To Greg, it seemed as if Vixen was giving him a heartfelt smile and he admitted that it felt kind of nice.

"Want me to show you something, cowboy?" She asked, "Something that you may not like?"

"Ah highly doubt yuh'd find something I wouldn't like, Ms. Vixen." He answered with a soft smile, stepping out of the way as she opened his door.

With one foot outside of his room, she turned her head to him only slightly, "Do you enjoy people messing with your music, sir?"

But before he could think of what she may have meant with that, the woman was walking away. And he had to make up his mind. Should he follow her and have his curiosity calmed or stay here breaking his head over what he could do now to win crowds over.

But as soon as he took one look over at his guitar and records, his blood ran cold and he remembered the terrible feeling of not being able to grab his guitar once more. So he grabbed his hat, placed it hastily on his head, and ran after the dark skinned woman in hopes that a distraction would have been just what he needed to get over whatever stump had taken hold of him.

He followed the woman to a place he had been once before, when Flash had told him he wanted to show him how 'cool' technology was now. That day had been rather exciting and entertaining, but Greg had known that he would not seek the computer lounge on his own because he did not think he could deal with the apparatus without accidentally breaking it.

Vixen motioned for him to sit at one of the computers and he did so. And as the woman typed away at the keyboard laying on the table, Greg was able to see that there were almost no heroes inside of the computer lounge except for the Question, who was mumbling to himself with a steaming mug of coffee held between his fingers.

"Okay, cowboy, now I've got to tell you, music has changed a lot since you were alive." She began with a tone that let Greg know she was going to warn him of something, "And not many people would say that is has changed for the better."

"Music can never be bad, Vixen." Greg told her with a shrug, "As long as it has heart... Well, that's all music would really ever need."

"Not in this case, Saunders." Question called from his chair, which made the man turn to him in confusion. "Just take her warning to heart. You might be shocked with what the music industry has become in the past decades."

Then the odd man began to type away at his computer and mutter to himself once more, letting Greg know without any words that their small conversation had ended. And Greg only quirked one eyebrow at the man before turning back to the computer screen, where he found that one site the Flash had shown him the one time he had come to the lounge before: Youtube.

He doesn't say anything as she types in some keywords and clicks on a video, but has to voice his question when the video begins to load.

"What are yuh showin' me, Vixen? Ah'm sure it can't be as scary as you say-" He tried to say, but she cut him off by covering his mouth with her hand.

"It seems to me that Shayera has kept you too in the past. I think it's time you are shocked into the future." She told him and clicked on the video before the green eyed man could say anything else.

And at hearing the first chords, his heart swelled. He remembered that song. It was the first song he had ever written on his own without anyone helping him. _Whispers to my Darling_ _._ He had written it to comfort his mother while he was away in New York trying to make himself big.

It was a song that struck deep in his heart. It was not only made for his mother, but also for himself, his brother, his whole family... For everyone that listened to it, really. It was a song that could have been sung from a child to a mother, a brother to a sister, a sad soul to a listening ear... It could also double as a romantic song that spoke of one lover's words to calm another. It was a universal song he had written for that exact purpose. It was supposed to have been a type of hushed lullaby anyone could sing whenever they felt like the world was crashing down around them.

And the first few seconds of the song, Greg allowed himself to be swept up by nostalgia and he remembered the look on his mother's face when he first performed it for her... She had almost burst into tears...

But suddenly the similar chords were replaced by... Greg didn't know how to describe it. They couldn't be sounds because they were much more ear-grating than any noise in music should ever be allowed to be. Yet there they were, hidden inside the terrible, barely describable racket, the words he had once slaved over to place in the right order for the melody.

They sounded as if they came from a robot and not a human. Those lyrics were almost as bad as the terrible background noise that had replaced the nostalgic guitar chords he had once used. They lacked the very heart he had once grueled over to showcase in the song.

"Whiiissppperrrss!" Shouted the robot in the song by the thirty second mark of the video and Greg's hand slammed down so violently against the keyboard that it was an outright miracle he didn't break it.

A moment of silence passed between Vixen and Greg in which the man breathed in heavily, eyes shut tight and body coiled tight. Then he opened his mouth, all the while he did his best to keep his anger from unleashing on the wrong person.

"What..." He began, breathing in to try and calm himself, "Was _that_?" He breathed out, opening his eyes to glare at the screen in front of him.

 ** _Views_** • _45,600,789_

 ** _Comments_** • _54,621_

 _OMG! Shes so gud!_

 _i saw her in concert two months ago! she really is the gr8test!_

"What kind of insult is this, Vixen?" Greg turned to her with anger blazing. "Please tell me this is some kind o' bad joke you're playin' on me an' my song hasn't been..." But his anger wavered and became sadness as the face of his mother suddenly appeared in his mind, smiling broadly with tears in her eyes as he played the song. "What have they done ta my song?"

Then he turned to the computer screen once more and shook his head. "Just what in blazes have they done ta _my_ song?"

 _BEST COVER OF THIS SONG!_

Tears stung at his eyes now, "This song was... It was _so much more_ than just _another_ country song spurred on by the boom of the industry... It's what made me big..." He choked slightly now, throat closing up as he saw his mother looking at him once more, "It had actual _meaning._ "

Vixen seemed taken aback by the sadness that overtook the cowboy but he stood up abruptly before she could do anything.

"Mah song meant _something_." He whispered, shaking his head. "This time has taken _everything_ away from me." His voice held un-shed tears, it sounded strained. He was fighting back tears. "Couldn't I have just kept this one thing? This _one song?_ "

Vixen made to get up to try and comfort him, but the cowboy shook his head and tipped his hat at her, "Thank yuh fer showin' me this, Ms. Vixen. Ah'll be takin' mah leave now."

And with these words he was gone and Vixen suddenly felt horrible for having showed that video to the man.

"He was not ready for that, Vixen." Question piped up after a long stretch of silence, "He was just getting over the initial shock of being in a time that is nothing like his own and you've managed to single handedly destroy any progress that was made."

For a moment, Vixen allowed sadness to wash over her. But she quickly shook her head and narrowed her eyes at the faceless man, "The others were coddling him. He was already adjusting well, but they were keeping things like this from him. Things that are small and matter little now but could mean a _world_ of difference when it comes to the real world outside of the Watchtower."

Then she stood up from her chair, closed the page on the computer and shut it off, then strutted out of the room with her head high. "Maybe it was too soon. But he deserved to know what had happened to his legacy rather than remain so blind to it."

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	6. Chapter 6

Vixen's actions stung deep. He knew she only meant the best for him, but it still hurt to see his song... _Tarnished_ in the way it had been. It was the first song he had ever written by himself, it had real value to him.

But the more he thought about the song, his new life, and where he found himself, the more it stung just a tiny bit less.

Everything had been taken away from him. There was nothing left to his name. Not his house, not his money, nothing he had ever owned. But there was one thing they couldn't take from him. Something that was his own. Something that _no one_ could take.

His soul. His heart. His essence. _Who he was._

They may take away his identity. They may take away his career. They may take away his _home_. But they would never be able to take away the person he was. The person he had grown up to be through all the situations he had faced in his life. He was a gentleman with southern charm that could talk himself out of just about any problem if he put his mind to it. That was something that could never be taken from him.

He had to stop seeing the future as Hell. It really wasn't. There was no such thing as Hell on Earth. It was another transitory time he found himself in before yet another twist in his life took him to another place.

First his life in the 1940's had led him to the past where he survived as a real cowboy. Then that life of his had been dashed away by the year 2015. If his life kept to the pattern, then he would be taken to yet another place in a year or so. He should have noticed this pattern before. It would have saved him a lot of heartache.

If his life continued in the same fashion it had gone the past few years, he would be in a new time in no time. And the more he thought about this possibility, the more bearable the thought of living in the future became.

It was yet another stage in his life. When placed in finite terms like this, he could actually stomach the idea of the future.

Instead of running away to cower in his room or the broom closet like he had first thought of doing, Greg had walked to the cafeteria where he found himself surrounded by all these people that risked their lives on a daily basis to protect innocents. For some reason, instead of craving to be alone, something inside of him had told him to seek companionship. And even though he didn't speak with any of the heroes, for once he didn't feel alone while on the big hunk of metal.

Maybe it was because he didn't feel like just quitting at the moment. Maybe it was because he could finally wrap his head around the idea of the future. Because he was a strong person that would be able to get through whatever life threw at him.

Besides, cowboys didn't cry. They only got tougher.

He had seen quite a few heroes enter and leave the cafeteria, and had some idea of how much time had passed since he had left Vixen with Question over at the computer lounge. And it must have been rather late in the day but he now had an idea in his mind, one he could not shake.

The three comments he had read from that video couldn't speak for the whole populace. And he had not seen videos of himself so he hadn't been able to see any reactions towards who he was as a person back when he was still alive. So maybe he should try and find himself some opinions on who he was. Who people thought he was.

He had been left alone for the most part and had enjoyed that. None of the heroes seemed to want to bother him and that didn't bother him at all. It was actually the type of separation he needed from the rest of them to be able to come to terms with his racing thoughts. It was just what he had needed to come up with the small plan he had thought up of.

Now, if only he were allowed to leave this hunk of junk without somebody accompanying him... Maybe he could weasel Terrific into letting him go down planet side alone.

He didn't want to go down to Earth with an escort. Not for what he wanted to do. For some reason, to him it felt like this was even more personal than going to meet the cousins he had left. Because with that, he didn't feel uncomfortable with Shayera being with him. Actually, he had enjoyed her joining him there because he had needed her to kind of help him through the barriers left over from years of separation. But now he needed to go down alone.

"Well, the worst thing he could say is no." The cowboy muttered to himself as he stood up from his table, placing his hands on his hips with a firm nod.

He then made his way to the teleporters, over to the same place he had just been some hours ago to meet with his cousins. The big difference this time was that he was hoping to go down by himself. If he was lucky, he'd be allowed. And if Terrific told him he couldn't, he could always just argue that he was a grown man that had taken care of himself well enough in the Old West, so he should have almost no trouble now that polio wasn't as dangerous as it once was.

When Mr. Terrific saw him come up to him, the dark skinned man smiled softly and waved, "What can I do for you, Greg?" He asked in a pleasant enough voice and Greg felt himself smile at that.

He had never been too big on segregation. It had never made any sense to him, if he could tell the truth. Why would blacks be separated from whites? And would that have meant that he had to separate justice for white from justice for blacks? No, he had served everyone back in the 40's in the same manner, respectful and as if they were all decent human beings. The only ones that hadn't received that luxury were the rattlers he had faced in his Vigilante career.

"Mr. Terrific, I was wonderin' if you'd be kind enough ta send me down ta Texas fer a spell."

Greg really hoped his demeanor and tone spoke of calm and being relaxed, because he knew that the other man was more likely to agree to his small plan if he seemed composed rather than hectic.

"Texas? Greg, you know the big guys don't want you wandering around down there without anyone there to take care of you." Terrific reminded him and Greg sighed.

"Come on, boy, Ah'm just about older than yer ma'. Does it really seem fair that an ol' and studied soul such as my own ain't allowed to go down ta Texas by hisself? It'd just be to Austin, any bar o' yer choosin', Terrific. Ah just want a day fer myself without havin' ta worry 'bout bein' a right gentleman with whoever the big seven decide to send me with. You can understand that, right?" He asked, really hoping the other man would listen to his reasoning.

And he seemed to think on it for a moment, then asked, "Any place of my choosing?"

Greg smiled broadly and nodded, "Ah ain't got much preferences. Just fer it ta be quiet and have good enough liquor."

"Of course you want to go down to a bar..." Terrific smiled for a second, then nodded, "Alright. But I'm going to have to give you a communicator so I can get in touch with you if any of the big guys want you to come back before you're ready. _And_ for you to contact me if you decide to come back before anyone figures out the resident cowboy isn't around."

With these words the man got up from his seat to look for one of the nifty trinkets they called a communicator. And as he looked for one, Greg smiled broadly and thanked God for having listened to his small prayers.

When Terrific came back, he handed the small apparatus to Greg, explained how to put it on, then motioned for him to go onto the teleporter as quickly as possible. Luckily for them, most of the staff was on their break at the moment and not many people were around to see them breaking the Founders' rules.

"I'm going to send you to the most country place I can think of in Austin, okay, Greg?" Terrific called down from the control station, "If you don't like it, or if you do, tell me as soon as you get down there, okay?"

"Got it, Head Honcho." Greg nodded with a small and a tip of his head. "An' thanks fer all this."

Terrific saluted him then, in a flash and an unpleasant second, Greg found himself standing behind a small establishment surrounded by sand and moonlight. There were bikes off to the side and he could hear guitar strums coming from the place.

The overjoyed cowboy raised a hand to his ear and said, "You got the perfect place, Terrific. Thank you."

 _"No problem, Greg. I'll contact you if anything comes up."_

"Got it."

And once he had made sure he looked decent enough in his jeans and light blue shirt, Greg rolled up his sleeves to rest at his elbows and made his way over to the front of the bar.

A bright sign read, _Honky Tonk Nights_ , and Greg noted that he should have asked Terrific just how that word had gotten so big before coming down planet side, but he was much too happy to be allowed to run loose on Earth to ask the man. The music that came from inside the place was lively, happy sounding, and had a twang to it that was unmistakably southern. He may have never heard a song like that before, but he was comfortable in just knowing the guitar chords being used.

He entered the establishment with a small smile on his face and his eyes widened at the sight before him. The place was comfortably visited, he noted from the people he could see around. There weren't too many but it wasn't that there weren't people there, either. It was a comfortable medium between the two. Up on a stage, that had a wall with all kinds of memorabilia and pictures of what he guessed were country singers, there was a bad comprised of three men playing the happy song he had heard from outside.

The walls of the place were wood and there was sawdust all over the floor, which made Greg smile at how alike it was to the saloons he used to frequent back in the Old West. All around him were tools that had once been used by cowboys on the drive, along with more pictures of those that had actually worked there, and Greg swore he could see his old pal, Bill 'Lasso' West. That man had been the best drover he had seen to come out of the small town he had wound up in and was one of the best with the use of a lasso.

"I ain't never seen your face 'round here before."

Greg was surprised to hear someone talking to him, but more so because it came from a beautiful woman with bright red lips, smoky blue eyes, and bright blonde hair that fell all the way to her mid-back.

"That's 'cause it's my first night here. Never been here before." Greg answered her with a small smile, which made her smile back broadly.

"Well you're quite the sight, mister. Much more of a looker than most fellas down here." She said, eyes looking over the small place as if to prove her point about the rest of the people inside.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am." He answered with a slight tip of his head, then he looked her over.

The woman wore faded blue jeans that hugged her legs in just the right dimensions, black boots hidden beneath the bottom of the pants, with a button up flannel shirt that she had tied up over her stomach so it could be seen. Certainly, she wasn't the kind of woman he was used to from his life in the past nor anything like the women up in the Watchtower, but she was a welcomed change.

"Name's Greg Saunders... Jr." He added as an afterthought as he offered her his hand, which she gladly took with a firm grip.

"I'm Carolina. But my friends call me Carrie." She shrugged, then looked him over, "You share names with one of the greatest country singers to have ever grazed this planet. Are you aware of that?"

The words caught Greg off for a moment, but he soon steadied himself and asked, "Is that so? Greg Saunders, you mean?"

With a nod the blonde woman began to walk over to the bar and Greg followed, pretty sure she was going to continue speaking with him.

"That's the man. Good God, I can't tell you how many times I've listened to his record. The original one to hoot!" She smiled back at him, pearly whites shining, "One of the few treasures my family has. And my mom even met him once! She said he was the kindest man she ever met, even more so than my father."

Greg felt himself redden up a bit at the unknown praise the woman was giving him, but continued the conversation, "Really? And you actually still listen to his music?"

"Still listen to his music?" Carrie gasped, actually taken aback by his question, "Blasphemy! Listen, feller, there are three rules to being country. One: City life ain't the best life. Two: Blood's thicker than water. And three: Gary Cooper, Greg Saunders, an' Gene Autrey are like the trinity of singer turned actors."

A small pang of nostalgia hit Greg as he remembered the other two actors he had gotten to know over his acting career, but nodded.

"Heck, I can ask Johnny over there to play us a Saunders song and he'd be lost for almost ten minutes trying to pick just one!"

"But Greg Saunders only ever released one record." Greg's eyebrows furrowed, but Carrie's smile only broadened.

"And it was one _heck_ of an album. Say, don't be stranger, dance a song with me after this drink, yeah?"

Now Greg noticed that the bartender had laid down two small glasses before them and Greg quirked an eyebrow over at the woman. But she only picked up both glasses, offered him one, then stuck her glass out to wait for him to clink their glasses together. Greg eyed the amber liquid in the glass for a moment before shrugging, clinking his glass against hers, then drinking up.

"Now let's dance. This song's one of my favorites!" She called out with a broad smile, grabbing his hand to drag him over to the space of floor in front of the stage that had two more couples dancing.

And as he placed his right hand on her hip and grabbed her right with his left, Greg noticed that the song they were dancing to was one of his more upbeat hits, _Speak of the Devil_. This made his grin grow to be ear to ear and as they danced to the song, Greg found himself singing along to his hit. And once Carrie figured out he was singing along, she began to as well, smiling as broadly as he.

He swore that by the end of the night he had spent more than an hour dancing with Carrie without stopping. It had just been so... _Natural_ to dance with her. There was no awkwardness nor any confusion. Every move they made together had been fluid and almost instinctual, as if they had known what move the other was going to make before they made it.

Unfortunately, his good night had to come to an end eventually and it came in a communication from the Watchtower. But it hadn't been Mr. Terrific as Greg had expected, but instead Shayera.

 _"Hey, cowboy, you enjoying your time down there? Unfortunately you have to come back up here. Bats needs to have a word with you."_

Greg didn't answer her right away because he didn't want to look like a crazy person in front of Carrie but frowned.

"What's wrong?" The beautiful woman asked him as she noticed his mood change, bottle of beer halfway drank in her hands.

"Ah've got ta get going. It's gettin' kind of late." He explained in an apologetic tone.

But the woman only smiled at him. She had done a lot of that this night. "You're not pulling a Cinderella on me, are you? 'Cause there's still a few minutes before midnight."

This made Greg chuckle softly but he still shook his head, "I've got to get going. But it was an outright pleasure ta meet you, Carolina."

She pursed her lips at his tone, "Don't speak as if we're never going to meet again. Here..." She said, then grabbed a piece of paper from the bar and stole a pen from the man writing something beside her to write down her phone number on the piece of paper. "Call me whenever you want, Mr. Saunders." She told him as she slipped the piece of paper into his hands, then winked. "We can dance some more next time."

Greg watched almost perplexed as she walked away, then shook her head when Shayera's voice came in through the communicator once more. He walked out of the bar and raised his hand to his ear, looking up at the shining moon with a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yuh can pick me up now, Shayera. Just had ta finish some business 'fore leavin'." He told her all the while running his fingers over the piece of paper given to him before pocketing it.

Then he was under the unpleasant sensation of whatever happened to him whenever he was teleported from the Watchtower or onto it, and once he was back on stable ground, he found Shayera waving over at him from the control panels with Mr. Terrific frowning half-heartedly at her.

"Have a good trip?" She asked as she made her way over to him, all the while Greg left the pad to meet up with her.

And with a small pat to his pocket, Greg nodded, "Let's just say Ah now know what I'm goin' ta do with my life, Miss Shayera."

"Really?" She asked, sounding just a bit surprised. "That's great news, Greg. Now come on, we've kept the Bat waiting for long enough."

Greg nodded and followed after Shayera but a dopey smile still played on his lips as he thought about the wonderful night he had just lived. His name was still known. And it was even respected. He had done right. And he was completely sure about what he was going to do now.

Cowboys didn't crumble under pressure. They rose above it and beat the odds. And he was a cowboy.

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